


when you kiss me heaven sighs

by HalfOfMe



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 02:16:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfOfMe/pseuds/HalfOfMe
Summary: University AU where they have a morning class together and Louis always walks in late and has obviously just woken up and Harry thinks that the grumpy person who sits in front of him is the cutest thing ever. He's trying to keep his fond stares to a minimum. It's a work in progress.





	when you kiss me heaven sighs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1Diamondinthesun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Diamondinthesun/gifts).



> wow i always leave everything til the last minute huh
> 
> okay so  
> 1) this is my first ever fic so please be patient with me :)  
> 2) i wanted to have like 3 more parts to this but this shall do, i hope everyone likes it! please leave comments and kudos and opinions ❤️  
> 3) thank you sooo much to Jess, my beta, and Becka and Asia for pushing me to actually finish this lmao wow  
> 4) this was so so fun to do and i’m really happy to be apart of this fic exchange and can’t wait to read the work by the other authors who participated!! thank you so much to the mods for organizing everything and having patience with everyone , we stan

  
He wakes up with his sheet stuck to his face and his hair stuck to the back of his neck with sweat. That’s the first thing Harry’s mind registers. The second thing is the riff of a familiar yet overplayed guitar solo blasting from his phone. The third is that it’s his first proper day of university.

He rolls out of bed with a groan, half collapsing into one of his boxes that have yet to be unpacked. His mind then registers that he’s still wearing that ugly shirt Niall had lent him the night before, the brown one, and nothing else.

After arriving at their shared dorm room and setting their luggage down, Niall immediately dragged Harry back out the door. “We must conquer these Manchonian streets! Get absolutely fucked, get acquainted with the city and all, find out which chippy is cheapest, wreck the fuckin’ shop! Make ourselves known, Harry!” Then proceeding to waltz into the first 3 decent pubs they came across and got breathtakingly trashed. Not the worst night Harry’s had, what with that he can actually feel his head and his ears aren’t ringing. Still a bit much for the night before they start University.

“ _Now and then when I see her face, she takes me away to that special place  
And if I stare too long, I’d probably break down and cry”_

After a quick rendition of Guns and Roses in the shower, Harry throws on some joggers and a black t-shirt. Niall’s sitting on the kitchen counter, only in boxers, toast already made on a plate for Harry. He’s surprised Niall is actually functional at this hour, considering Harry had to carry him home most of the way. “All set, Styles?”

“Yup.” He takes the offered food, digging in as he eyes Niall’s chosen attire, or lack thereof. “Why are you semi-naked in our kitchen?”

He shovels a spoonful of cereal into his mouth before grinning. “Makes me feel more free. Like a songbird.” A few Coco Pops drip down his chin, one landing on his thigh.

Harry simply nods. Why does he have such weird friends. “Right so. Free your body and all that. I’ll text you once lecture is finished, yeah?” He puts his plate in the sink, already half full and it’s only the morning after they’ve moved in. Harry doesn’t even remember unpacking any dishes or cutlery before heading off last night, and he certainly wouldn’t have done it half pissed and stumbling to his room when they came home. He blames Niall.

He gathers the top half of his curls in a hair claw, even though Niall sniggers at him from behind his spoon. He claims they’re silly things, “My granny used to wear them yolks, and that was when she still had hair, H,” but Harry also claims Coco Pops are disgusting.  
So there’s that.

“Right so, boss. Happy first day at school! Love you!”

Harry chuckles as he slides on his pink Vans, opening the door. “Love you too, honey. Please be clothed by the time I get back!”

He hears a very Irish and brute “Never!” as he slips his earphones in and makes his way down the hall towards the entrance of the building.

Niall and Harry first met at a house party of a mutual friend. It was the first proper house party he’d been at, so naturally, he locked himself in the bathroom for the first hour or so. A loud, drunk Niall had come knocking on the door, about to throw up. Harry had opened the door and paused for a moment, appreciating the tightness of Niall’s tank top and the cut of his jaw, which Harry recognizes to be one of his first “ _gay trances_ ”. That was shot to shit when the next thing he felt was vomit all over his black button-down, already beginning to smell, jaw dropping to the floor in shock and immediately jumping into a state of rage and panic and _I can’t believe this lad actually got sick on me_. Niall had bought him a new shirt the week after and decided to become friends with Harry as an apology.

That was six years ago.

Gemma, Harry’s older sister, just graduated the year both of them had gotten accepted to University of Manchester. Niall wants to study Music and Harry’s studying English Literature.

Even though Holmes Chapel is only about an hour from the city, he knows everything is going to change. His Mum had cried like a baby when she dropped them both on campus, most of their things from home thrown in the boot and the back seats. Harry knows how hard it was for her when Gemma had left for school, but now both of her kids are gone. He just hopes the odd weekend visit and coming home for the holidays will keep her spirits up. Maybe he should have left some of his Pink Floyd records at home so she could play them when she misses him, pretending he’s upstairs in his room studying while listening to them.  
But he knows she’ll be fine after a few weeks. He just hopes he will be too.

It’s not just his Mum, who he’ll obviously miss everyday, but it’s Harry’s first time being away from home for longer than a month. It’s the start of his life as he knows it. Moving to the city with his best friend, starting university, figuring himself out, everything is going to change, and he knows it. He just hopes he’s ready for it.

“ _He say I know you, you know me  
One thing I can tell you is you got to be free_ ”

Much to Harry’s distaste, Niall convinced him that they should room together, for convenience purposes of course. Niall basically lived at Harry’s house throughout most of their secondary school lives, probably because he always robbed his biscuits and that mad crush he had on Gemma for years. Still, at least one thing will remain the same for him.

Harry continues humming as he bops down the path, spotting fellow students leaving their dorms. Some looking a bit hungover and dead, more so than Harry, some looking quite pale as they enter the lecture halls scattered across campus. Some with the same bounce in their step as Harry, all buzzing on energy and youth and the newness and uncertainty of _what the fuck are we all getting ourselves into??_

“Come together right now, over me,” Harry sing-songs to himself as he shoulders open the door to a quaint little coffee shop on his way. He greets the lady cashier with a soft smile, orders a black coffee before leaning against the chocolate bar wrack, checking his notifications.

**3 missed calls from Mum.  
1 missed call, 3 texts from Gemma.**

He huffs under his breath, about to read her messages before he hears the door to the shop opening, bells above it tinkling to signal a new customer arriving in.

Harry freezes.

A boy. A boy with blue, blue eyes and soft, bed-ruffled hair walks in. The sun shining through the door bounces off the angles and curves of his face, drawing attention to his cheekbones and the slight shimmery pink of his lips.

Lipgloss. This boy is wearing _lipgloss_. He’s also wearing a black Hello Kitty t-shirt,— _quite fitting, Harry thinks_ — jeans painted on, small feet decked in too-big leather Doc Martens, and. And he looks like an Arctic Monkeys song. _What is this_.

Whatever this is, whoever this angel Boy is, he can’t seem to look away. Harry’s eyes follow the Boy as he joins him at the counter, dainty hand rising to tap fingers against pink lips as blue eyes scan the coffee menu above the til. Blue eyes rimmed in black, slightly smudged. _Oh dear god_.

Then blue eyes land on Harry and pink lips smirk and feathery eyebrows raise and Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself or why the fuck he’s still staring or—

“Love?”

He blinks and turns to the voice calling him. The lady cashier is waving a small hand in front of his face, coffee cup on the counter. Harry blinks again.

“Right. Yes. Sorry, I - Sorry. Thank you.” He takes his cup and nods to her apologetically, heading back towards the door. Before he leaves, he turns to see the Boy already staring, snickering behind a hand raised in a little teasing wave. Pale blue nails and all. He can feel his cheeks on fire when he nods tentatively back at him.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Harry whisper shouts once he feels the fresh air on his face.

 _What was that_.

*********

Inside the shop, the boy is still smirking as he orders his English tea, pink lips quirking up at the sides, head gone fuzzy.

The lady cashier takes the change offered to her. “That happen to you often, love?”

He tilts his head. “What? Tall lanky boys too busy staring at my pretty self to remember their coffee?”

The lady nods her head and laughs, handing the boy his order.

He keeps smiling, looking back towards the door. That boy was quite pretty, even with that dumb hair clip thing.

“I mean, not really.”

**********

The hall is pretty much full when Harry first walks in, checking his phone to see that class starts in about two minutes anyways. He breathes. Right on time.

Looking around to find a spare seat, he plonks down beside a boy with his page already ruled, dated and bullet-pointed, head and most of his upper-torso lost in his shoulder bag. Harry smiles to himself and chuckles before getting his laptop out, at least trying to pretend that he’s invested and ready to do well at his first week in Uni.

Ten minutes into the professor’s introduction to Theatre & Performance, someone enters the hall. Quite loudly.

“ _Shit_ , fuck, _shit_ , that’s _hot_.”

Harry turns his head slightly and his jaw drops. Of fucking course.  
It’s that boy from the coffee shop, holding a different cup of something and - a can of Redbull? And, oh god, he’s walking towards Harry.

Harry stares as the boy awkwardly makes his way to an empty seat directly in front of him, about halfway down the row, elbowing and stepping on several people’s heads and feet respectively, uttering out a high pitched “Shit, sorry,” or “Sorry, love!” every few steps.

Harry also notices the boy only has a small fridge notepad held under his arm. Very prepared.

Once the boy actually sits down and makes himself comfortable, notepad and cup on the desk, he cracks open his Redbull, loudly, the girl to his left eyeing him sternly from underneath her fringe. He simply shrugs and pours the entire thing into his cup, which from Harry’s view, is black coffee. _What the fuck is wrong with this boy_?

Said boy must feel eyes on the back of that pretty head, because he turns to Harry with the same pink smirk from earlier, obviously recognizing him, before whispering, “I’m going to die”.

And he downs the whole fucking cup like it’s water, and not enough caffeine to do a normal human being for three days.

Harry just. He just stares. He’s pretty sure his eyes are popping out of his head at this stage, in shock and amazement, both at how someone can look so beautiful at this hour with mussed hair and sunken eyes and how has this boy not passed out yet? Will he pass out before the end of this class? Is he real? Harry doubts as much, that amount of caffeine is more than enough for the average person, let alone someone so…petite. That’s what this boy is. A petite, ruffled, pretty, Black Treacle dream. Harry has never seen him before, he’s sure of it, because he would definitely remember someone as enchanting as this creature. He doesn’t know what it is, what makes Harry so fascinated by him, by everything he does and everything about him, but he’s stuck.

Boy exhales after putting down his cup, flicking his golden honey fringe out of pretty blue eyes. Is Harry having a fever dream? Is he still hungover? Is this strange pixie boy the loveliest thing to ever grace Harry’s eyes and existence?

That remains to be seen.

The boy leans forward in his seat before propping his small head in his small hands, as if framing a picture, attentive to whatever the professor is saying even though he missed the first ten minutes. Harry knows he should be paying attention too but frankly he does not care anymore about what he’s saying because this boy is just oblivious to the distress he’s causing to Harry’s eyes and brain and pulse and how the fuck is he supposed to pass this class now when this boy is in it? On this Earth? Sitting in front of Harry?

And it’s only the first day.

He sinks into his chair with a groan, idly tapping fingers across his keyboard to stop himself from staring at the Boy.

Surprisingly...it doesn’t work.

**********

When Harry arrives back to his dorm, bearing lunch for Niall and himself from the coffee shop, he mentally debates gushing to Niall about the boy. But he decides against it. He’s 22 years old and will not get caught up on some beautiful stranger he met at a coffee shop. And evidently, heartbreakingly, will proceed to be in each of Harry’s Monday morning lectures. Life will go on. And he will not gush about Angel Boy to Niall.

Instead, he leaves lunch on the kitchen counter and drags himself to his room, still the same mess as two hours prior, puts his playlist on shuffle and collapses face forward into his bed. Black Treacle plays from his speakers. Harry lets out a frustrated groan into his sheets, and Life laughs at him.

“ _Lately, I’ve been seeing things_  
 _Belly button piercings in the sky at night  
When we’re side by side_ …”

**********

Even though he doesn’t have a class with him for the rest of the week, Harry sees the Boy twice again. And he dies both times.

On his way to the little coffee shop he now claims as his own, since he goes there every morning, he’d look up to see him leaning against the art building with another boy, quickly averting his eyes. The other boy’s olive skin bearing a wild contrast to the shirts he wears, which all appear to be completely covered in spray and torn in some fashion. He looks like he should be on magazine covers with those dark chocolate eyes, or in artsy music videos for songs about sex and maintaining inner peace. Or something indie.

Harry thinks he would like him if he didn’t see the way the Boy looks up at him with blue eyes through soft eyelashes when he steals his lighter to light a cigarette Tuesday morning, or on Thursday to have one of his own. Both days he’s wearing a denim jacket, hanging off him enough to show off his collarbones, which kind of makes Harry go knock-kneed. He seems to live in black skinnies too, although they do wonders for him.

In the halls, Harry would get random glimpses of unmistakable blue eyes or a head of soft kitten hair passing him. He comes to the conclusion that it’s just his imagination, he doesn’t actually see the boy everywhere, he’s just glued to the backs of Harry’s eyelids. He doesn’t even know who that boy is or what his name is or anything about him.

And no, he will not ask Niall about him. Because Niall will make fun of him and tease him and he’s supposed to be focusing on his coursework and making a good start at this University thing and he doesn’t want to bother Niall and he tells himself he doesn’t really care much about the boy at all, just thought that he was pretty.

Very very pretty.  
And a bit mad to chug a Redbull-and-black-coffee cocktail.

Besides, with how the boy looks at his friend he’s always with, he’s most likely taken. Yes. That makes Harry feel much better.

**********

After making it through a whole week of University, just about, he bounds through his door with a thunderous “ _I have survived!_ ”, promptly shocking Niall to fall off the couch, where Harry assumed he was sleeping. Again. Well, up until a few seconds ago.

“ _Fuck sake,_ Harry. Can you at least knock?” He grumbles from the pile of cushions he landed in. “Have some respect for your flatmate, who was innocently sleeping off a hangover just now.”

Harry scoffs, setting down his shoulder bag. “Not my fault you’ve gone out drinking for the third time this week, some people actually start college to get an education, have a life of their own. And you’ve been in that exact same position since I left for class.”

He takes off his Selena Gomez tour t-shirt before walking to the couch and flicking it at Niall’s head, who rolls over, kicking at him in defense. “Leave me be, I’m dying!”

Harry goes to his room to find a fetching jumper, calling behind him, “Get up then, I’m treating us to dinner today. We can’t start off our adult life living off curry chips and wok noodles.”

Niall’s voice is muffled as he shoves his face into a pillow, still on the floor of their sitting room. “But why not? They’re simple, tasty, nutritious, and-“

“And I’m not cooking for both of us every night for the remainder of college, or however long it takes for me to get fed up of your lazy arse. Besides, I found this cute trendy diner near that pub you like. It’s all fifties inspired, like Eddie Rockets or something, except more authentic. They serve vegan food too!” Harry finds a black shirt with frills around the collar, gives it a once over, throws it behind him onto the bed. It’s very booby, so that’s a maybe.

“ _Ugh_ , you and your hipster shit. Should’ve gone to London, you’d fit right in. Do they ask you for your favourite poetry quote before you order, as well?”  
“Fuck off, we’re going! Go get dressed.”

He decides on a black Gucci jumper he got for Christmas off an aunt from London. His eyes still pop out when he sees it, because it’s fucking _Gucci_ , but he reasons that he’s a city boy now, he has to look presentable. He’s only worn it twice, can barely touch it when he comes across it in his wardrobe at home. But it’s comfy, and _Gucci_. So he shrugs iit on over his shoulders. He hears Niall get up with a loud, exaggerated groan aimed to piss Harry off before bounding to his own room.  
His lips quirk, clapping and rubbing his hands together and heads to the bathroom. He runs his hand through his curls, brows furrowed on a question, asking his reflection, “Now, sugar baby hair or no?”

*********

 _“I-I love the colorful clothes she wears,  
And the way the sunlight plays upon her hair_ ”

The second week of uni begins with Harry going to his coffee shop, Good Vibrations feeding his energy, but that morning here’s no Angel Boy.

The same cashier from that awkward first encounter gives him a soft look he can’t place before giving him his cup, heading off to his lecture, somewhat disappointed. He doesn’t know why, or why he expected the boy to be there, he just hoped maybe this time he would be able to actually gather his balls instead of just staring and perhaps get the boy’s name, maybe even his relationship status.

He shakes his head at himself, entering the hall. Why must he think these things, let alone about a stranger. He feels like Charles Bukowski in that poem about that girl who wrote about angels and God. Or maybe it’s just his inner Romantic. Fuck knows.

Just as he sits down, he freezes. Again.

Because Angel Boy is sitting in front of him, early for class this time. His feet are propped up on the desk, chair leaning against the front of Harry’s desk, scrolling through his phone. Tiny feet with no socks, just black Vans. Black skinnies. White shirt, devastatingly low-cut. Denim jacket, which now that Harry has a closer look, has various patches.

He spots a green alien smoking a joint, _THE FIRST PRIDE WAS A RIOT,_ Freddie Mercury’s head wearing a crown, the AM logo, some daisies and roses, _Yuck Fou_ in cursive, a prism very similar to that on the Dark Side Of The Moon cover and a rainbow heart. Which. Yes. That might be an indication of something, but also not.  
Because Harry has never even talked to this boy before and it’s rude to assume people's sexualities, but Angel Boy seems to be quite knowledgeable of LGBTQ+ history, just from looking at his jacket. His breast pocket also has a Pride flag pin, a pink lighter and a pack of chewing gum.  
Right so.

The professor starts speaking, and everyone in the room looks towards him, paying attention. Harry tries to, but he notices Angel Boy is still on his phone, desk empty. He catches bits of what the class is about, but his gaze somehow is always drawn back to the boy. He can’t stop staring at how his cheekbones poke out even from behind, the cut of his jaw, the slope of his neck and how can someone have a pretty _neck_??? He puts his phone in his pocket now, still leaning against Harry’s desk before looking towards the massive white board. Harry keeps staring. Quite fondly.

At one stage he ends up with his face in his hands, still staring. He knows it’s obvious to the people sitting beside him and probably to the boy, who’s eyelashes flutter a couple times throughout the class or when he leans his head back to yawn, nearly touching Harry’s hands where he’s leaning them against the front of his desk and he jumps back, bringing the table with him just a bit.

The guy sitting next to him gives him an odd look from where he’s avidly taking notes. Harry simply shrugs and looks forward again, but the boy is now fully turned around, arm propped up against his desk, most likely having fallen back a bit to Harry’s reaction to the boy nearly bloody touching him, for fuck sake. _Get a grip, Harry._ But Harry doesn’t move. He tries to smile softly in acknowledgement, then decides to maybe whisper a quiet _hello_ , but he imagines his face turns into a sort of grimace because no sound comes out and the boy’s feathery brows are furrowed and he seems to be laughing at Harry a bit. Which is great. He’s still silently chuckling to himself as he turns back around, chair still leaning against Harry’s desk. He’s still frozen with his hands gripping the top of his desk, staring at the swirl of the boy’s hair atop his head.

Jesus Christ.

He doesn’t acknowledge Harry for the rest of class.

**********

For the remainder of that week, Harry tries to recover from the _absolute fucking mockery_ he made of himself on Monday. He doesn’t go out when Niall asks him to, which surprisingly only happened once. He must be taking this shit seriously then, Harry thinks, since he only hears Niall complaining about his coursework and the plucking of his guitar from his room.

He takes a trip to the library one of the days, not having been in it since uni started, looking for a copy of some book on _Themes of 17th Century Theatre._ He’s slowly making his way through the aisles when from the top shelves, a bunch of books are pushes off, a couple landing on his head.

“Oh _fuck_ , oh god, I _am so sorry, shit!”_

A voice comes from behind Harry, who has his hands up shielding his head incase any more books attack him from above. A tall, bulky boy in suspenders and glasses is gathering said books from the floor, quite quickly, arms flying out and scrambling.

“Eh, it’s alright mate, head’s still here,” Harry teases, bending down to gather a couple from behind him before rising to eye level with Glasses. He has a kind face, big brown eyes wide in apology and panic, like a puppy.

“I _really_ am sorry mate, I was just - you know, stacking books and they weren’t in order and I really am quite clumsy, only started on Monday you see, just for something to keep me busy and it pays for the train in everyday, is your head okay? Are you hurt? Christ, I -” His arms are shaking so bad a few books he has stacked in his arms fall to the floor again, Harry quickly picking them up, knowing poor Glasses will most likely drop the entire stack if he even leans down. He holds a large hand up to grib his shoulders, attempting to calm the boy.

“It’s really quite alright, I’ve got these, just deep breathes yeah?” Harry glances down at the books in his hand. _Themes of 17th Century Theatre_ and _Modern Contemporary Arts._ “Ah, perfect. I was looking for this one anyways. Thanks, mate.” Glasses nods as Harry takes half of the bundle out of his arms, holding them in one of his own before offering out his hand. “I’m Harry.”

Glasses still seems to be mentally calming himself down after his rambling, though he offers his own hand out to shake Harry’s. “Liam. Payne. No problem, by the way, although I could do with putting these back, have to get a whole other-”

“Ah, it’s no problem mate, I’ll help,” Harry offers with a small smile, already making his way down the aisle where Liam came from. He guesses he can do with someone talking to him for a bit longer, to calm down, and Harry hasn’t really talked to many people since he’s got here anyways. Liam simply nods, silently keeping an eye on where Harry’s actually placing his books, chest still rising and falling a bit rapidly.

“You know, I used to work in my old secondary school library in Holmes Chapel. I always loved reading, poerty, history, all of it. Never really thought of doing it here, it’s actually my first time in the library since the start of school.” This seems to please Liam greatly, as his face lights up into a sunny grin from his worried tight expression. A literal puppy.

“Oh, really? Well you should definitely come in more often, even if you’re looking for a read yourself besides coursework, obviously. I can always help you out or give you recommendations, if you’d like?”

Harry takes the books from Liam’s hands with a smile. “I’d love to, yeah. Although I’ve read most thing I’m sure you’d want to recommend, everything by Oscar Wilde, Bukowski, Dickinson, even got Niall to read a bit, although he’s not really a fan.”

“Niall?”

“Yeah, my flatmate. He’s my best friend from home. Very Irish. Bit of a lazy arse, and a handful, but I’d say he’d like you for sure.”

Liam nods along, still smiling. “Yeah, definitely. I think I heard about an Irish lad from Zayn, said he was out with him last week, going mad down at Oliver’s. Does he know Zayn?”

Harry knows he was out at Oliver’s last week, his new favourite pub, because Harry had remained at home doing up his portfolios, ever the organizer. “He never mentioned him, but in fairness if he met him drunk I doubt he’d remember all too well. Would I recognize him?”

“Well he spends most of his time at my flat, his own flat or the art building. Tall, artsy type, does history. He paints too!” Liam is quite enthusiastic about this Zayn character. Art building…no..

Harry climbs down off the ladder.“Black quiff? Smokes? Doc Martens?”

Liam furrows his bushy brows. “Yeah..why?”

 _Oh my god_.

“Oh, nothing,” Harry rushes out, voice absolutely not rising. “ I actually do know him. Well, I’ve never spoken to him before, but I’ve seen him outside the art building a couple mornings, yeah. Hanging out with some...boy.”

Oh god, Liam knows that guy. Zayn. Liam knows Zayn.  
_What if he knows Angel Boy?_

Liam nods solemnly. “He’s my boyfriend, yeah, although he lives with Louis,” lowering his head to fix his glasses, blush rising in his cheeks.“Doesn’t really make much difference, really, since they both hound mine and Josh’s place.”

Harry really doesn’t hear anything past Louis. Something about that name and the way Liam described him makes Harry’s blood freeze. Who’s _Louis_? Oh dear god, it couldn’t be-

“ _Louis_? Who’s _Louis_?”

Liam looks at Harry oddly, most likely at the urgency in his question, hesitating before answering. “He’s Zayn’s flatmate. Probably that lad you see with him at the art building. Bit mad, he’s always out at the weekends, got Zayn into smoking as well, but he’s a good mate. Always buys flowers whenever I let him crash after a night out, which is sweet, even though they give Josh hayfever, he probably knows that..”

Oh god. Oh dear god. _Louis_.

“Louis,” Harry says it out loud, feels it in his mouth, eyes gone off somewhere over Liam’s shoulder, who now just looks at him a bit baffled.

“Yeah, Louis. You know him?”

Harry doesn’t even hear him, doesn’t hear anything past that lad you see with Zayn at the art building. He saw Zayn with that boy at the art building those mornings, the coffee shop, in his Monday morning classes. And he isn’t Zayn’s boyfriend.

Angel Boy’s name is Louis. Louis is Angel Boy.

 _Angel Boy’s name is Louis_.

**********

It’s only been 3 weeks since Curly Lesbian and the coffee incident, but Louis still wonders about him. He wonders what he does, like in his spare time, if he likes Queen, if he’s part of some lesbian cult. Although he is a man, so Louis doesn’t know how that would work. He’d probably run it, and they’d all love him and his weird shirts and his pink Vans. He definitely knows he likes the Beatles, heard him humming that song under his breath and from his earphones that first morning. Which isn’t so bad. He doesn’t know what to make of that Selena Gomez shirt that other time, though.

He seems like the skittish type, or maybe not. He wears pink Vans. That is cute, Louis will admit, just makes him look softer. He saw him wearing a leopard print t-shirt and a fedora one morning, him and Zayn smoking before he had an art history class, heading towards that coffee shop. Very casual lesbian. “Probably listens to Shania Twain,” he said to Zayn as he nodded to the boy. He just scoffed and took his lighter back off Louis.

Skittish. Lanky. Casual soft lesbian attire. Gets distracted by pretty boys. Cannot talk to said pretty boys, and granted they’ve only had two classes together; Curly stared at him for most of the first week and nearly talked to him last week, but evidently said nothing. Seemingly decent music taste. Not too bad so far.  
But he drinks black coffee, on Monday mornings, so that’s a no. The only excuse Louis has to even look at black coffee is to battle a hangover, thank you very much.

Alas, much remains to be seen from Curly.

Louis gets up from his bench beside the tree in the middle of the campus green, checking his nails for any chipping. He’s gone with baby pink this week, matching his socks. Soft Curly Lesbian has him in a soft mood, although his Black Sabbath shirt would contradict as much. But Louis likes the mystery. If that would even class as mystery, pairing a band shirt he can only name one song from with pink nails. He wasn’t bothered with a bit of smoky eyeliner yesterday, so it’ll have to do. He looks down at his phone, checking the time.

**8:07am, Monday 18th September.**

He grins as he makes his way to the lecture hall. “Right on time.”

**********

 _Louis_. Louis. Okay. His name is _Louis_.

Harry’s wearing his black fedora and his flamingo shirt, tits slightly out, which is a bit much for him on a Monday morning but he was feeling it, so. Plus he’s actually planning on talking to Louis today. He will. He just doesn’t know what to say, or how to initiate a conversation. But class has just started, and Angel Boy isn’t here yet, so he has approximately 5 minutes to think on it.

Except no. Because just as Harry has his laptop out and fedora adjusted artfully, the door to the hall opens and there’s Louis. Looking devastating, and golden, and Jesus Christ, Harry is not okay. He’s still in his denim jacket and black skinnies, Black Sabbath t-shirt, fringe brushed across his forehead as if he just came out of bed and didn’t bother touching it. He probably did.

Angel Boy is already in front of Harry by the time the door clicks shut, and just before he takes his seat, he meets eyes with Harry briefly before dropping to his shirt. More specifically, his exposed chest.

“Nice tits,” Louis winks before turning around in his seat, leaning back against Harry’s desk, again.

Harry’s insides are just. He can’t feel them. All his attempts at trying to talk to Louis are absolutely shot to shit now. He looks at the back of Louis’ head, then down at his own chest, then back to Louis, then his chest again. He thinks his fedora fell off his head. He does not fucking care.

 _Nice tits_.

All he knows is he has to wear more booby shirts on Mondays.

**********

The next month is quite uneventful, unfortunately. Although Louis is much more grumpy, usually ten to fifteen minutes late to class once everyone has properly settled in. He only brings his Redbull and coffee when he arrives to class looking exceptionally fucked, blue eyes dull and smudged with black, shirt hanging off his shoulders and hair sticking up in every direction, which Harry doesn’t dwell on for his own well-being. He still looks lovelier than ever anytime Harry sees him.

He doesn’t really know much more about him, only that his name is Louis and he lives with Zayn on campus but used to live in the same building as Liam, about fifteen minutes from University by train, has been friends with both of them for about three years and he buys Liam flowers whenever he needs a favour. Which is quite nice, Harry thinks, as he continues to stare fondly at Louis’ eyelashes most Monday mornings.

He finds his classes to be going well, just about handling his coursework while Niall drags him out of their dorm every Friday night and sometimes on the Saturday, if Harry’s in the mood. He actually doesn’t know if Niall’s classes are going well or not, because whenever Harry asks he just gets “I’d say so, just music and the media and all that, it’s alright I suppose.” Which.  
Is a very Niall response, but Harry knows better than to worry. He’s gone around to the library once or twice to see Liam, but he was either nowhere to be found or talking to some other staff member, Harry assumes. Not just to enquire more about Louis, or anything. He actually thought Liam to be a rather nice lad, and could probably do with a few more friends. Or moreso Harry himself would.

He just needs to actually talk to Louis once and his life will be on track, fully. He’s just a bit scared that Louis will snap at him or rip out his space buns or something, which he nearly did a week after Nice Tits. He was quite noisy slurping his tea, already after disrupting his row by being twenty minutes late and actually brought a bag to class. That girl who always gives him nasty looks asked him if he would so kindly not slurp like a dog, and he threatened to light her hair on fire with his lighter and all the hairspray that must be in her hair. Harry didn’t dare look at him for the rest of class.

Still, grumpy kitten and all, Harry still finds him haunting. He sees him by that big chestnut tree in the green a few times after a class, head in a book or his laptop or smoking with Zayn. One Monday, he leans back in his chair as he always does - Harry swears it’s just because he sits right behind him and he most definitely has not forgotten about that very first day, what with anytime he turns around or catches Harry staring there’s a twinkle in his blue blue eyes and a quirk to his lips, and especially since that time Harry near pulled the table out from under him - and stretched right up, Harry’s eyes involuntarily went straight to his stomach, straight to the little ring in his belly button and the light dusting of auburn hair leading down from it into his waistband. It nearly killed him. The next class they had together, Louis wears a crop top jumper, and that did kill him. And it’s only a month into school.

If he’s going to survive the remainder of the year, he has to talk to Louis.  
And probably stop calling him Angel Boy in his head.

**********

It’s Monday morning, again, and Louis is dying. He would most definitely love to stay in bed for the rest of the day, and night, and whole week, even, but he missed class all day Friday and was very much late to his Monday morning class last week. He’s not a dropout yet.

He’s currently wrapped up in what appears to be a grey cardigan belonging to Liam and an array of jumpers, all squished together in the corner of his couch. He raises his head to find his phone, ringing in time with the pounding of his head, and he is not in the mood for Life today. Just not today Satan, please.

He gives up, throwing whatever shit he’s drowning in onto the sitting room floor and hears a clatter. A phone.

“Aha.” He slaps a hand around on the floor til he reaches it, squinting at the screen.

**8:01am, Monday 2nd October**

“ _Oh fuck._ ”

**********

“ _Wouldn't you love to love her?_  
 _Takes to the sky like a bird in flight and  
Who will be her lover_?”

It’s Monday morning, again, and Harry is a genius and a lovely human being.

Louis hasn’t brought coffee with him for the past 3 weeks, so Harry thinks he’s about due one, especially since Oliver’s had a Drag Night last night. Niall practically fell through the door at around 4 this morning, so he’s guessing Louis was out as well. So once he arrived at his coffee shop this morning, he asked for two black coffees. He took the two cups with a smile, golden boots on this morning, Stevie Nicks crooning in his ears, riding on confidence and his black booby shirt and hope. Harry gets that he’s literally only going to be talking to another human being, but this is Louis. Angel Boy.

Will he ever win?

He arrives to class, a few minutes early, just incase. He takes his seat, still holding both cups, knee bobbing with nerves and thinking I probably shouldn’t have had that coffee before leaving this morning. And now he has another coffee with him. What the fuck was he thinking.

“There’s no hope for me,” he says to himself, now sunken in his seat, waiting. The stroppy girl who usually sits beside Louis hasn’t come in yet, and she’s usually in class well before Harry.  
“Huh.”  
He looks around at the students already in the hall. No sign of her. Hopefully she doesn’t show at all.

Class starts, and Harry’s pulse skyrockets. Any second now, Louis will come through the door. As the professor displays notes on the board, Harry’s eyes flick back and forth from the door to the front of the hall. What if he doesn’t show up today? What if the coffee is cold by the time he gets here? Harry looks down at his cups at that thought. Oh fuck, that would be embarrassing. Or what if he already has coffee with him? Then Harry will have two fucking cups of coffee to himself that he has no need for and if he offers them to anyone else they probably won’t take them and he’ll look pretty stupid with two coffee cups and not actually drinking them and he actually looks pretty stupid right now, and oh dear God—

Louis. Louis walks in the door. Wearing a fucking tank top.

Harry’s brain short circuits and gets lost somewhere in Louis’ collarbones because the collar is cut low enough that it shows the “ _It Is What It Is_ ” inked underneath them and the light dusting of auburn chest hair, and _holy shit fuck_ Harry is not okay. He stumbles past Harry, chest rising with deep breaths, and Harry can see all the way from his armpit to the dip of his waist, and. And Harry nearly drops both the fucking cups of coffee.  
Because Louis is all smooth golden skin and fluffy lion hair and baby blue eyes and now he’s sitting in front of Harry, looking every bit a grumpy pixie.

But once he sits his laptop on his desk, he faceplants into his keyboard. And doesn’t movie for about five minutes.  
Which. Okay. Guess he’ll be needing a coffee, then.

  
It’s that thought that convinces Harry to literally climb over his desk and onto the empty chair beside Louis. Which for a normal person holding two coffees would be quite difficult. For Harry, it takes about five minutes, trying not to spill or drop either cups and not fall on his face.  
By the time he has both legs onto the chair, Louis’ already wordlessly gawking at him through squinting eyes and messy strands of honey hair. Harry just smiles like they’re already friends and this is totally normal, not as if Harry looks very fucking odd right now and his nipple is most likely out and his fedora is somewhere on the ground behind him but. But Louis is looking at him. He’s sitting beside Louis and he’s looking at him with a look that probably means _what the fuck are you doing_ or _is this lad alright_? but Harry keeps smiling like Louis is sunshine.

“Hello.”

Louis stares. He looks from Harry’s chest, to the two cups still in his large hands, to his eyes. No answer.  
So there’s that.

Harry’s mouth and throat is suddenly really fucking dry, licking his lips self consciously, tongue clicking as he swallows. “I, um. You usually have coffee with you some Monday mornings, with um. Redbull? Sometimes? And I just thought that since I usually get coffee in the mornings myself, I saw you that one morning, um. Maybe I should bring you one as well? Just incase? If you forgot, or just, you know, were late or something. You kind of are usually a few minutes late, and looking quite tired. Not that I notice, or anything. Just that it’s a Monday morning, first class and all, and you were quite literally asleep on your laptop a minute ago. So, um, here.”

  
He finally stops fucking talking, Louis only blinking once throughout everything he just said, before Harry places one of the cups beside his laptop and immediately turns away, face on fire. Fuck. Why does he do these things??

Harry tries to keep fucking quiet as he sips his own coffee, thankfully still hot, as to now annoy Louis any further. He’s still staring at Harry from under his hair when he slowly takes the cup offered to him, taking the plastic lid off and peering in.

Louis grimaces. “This is black coffee.”

Harry nods slowly. “Yeah,” as if it was painfully obvious.

“Black coffee,” Louis repeats, fixing Harry with a look of concern, who just furrows his brows at the boy.

“I like black coffee. Keeps me focused during lectures.”

  
Louis blinks and stares. “But it’s black coffee.”

Harry purses his lips and stares right back. Usually someone would say thank you, very kind of you, and drink the cup whether it was coffee or not. But Louis is probably still shit faced from whatever he was up to last night, and Harry did quite noisily interrupt his little nap. Oops.

  
“I mean, you usually have coffee with your Red Bull, but I couldn’t find any in the shop. Not that I was specifically getting a can, like, for you or anything, I was just. Browsing. Yeah. Was going to try it.”

Louis once again just blinks and stares. “You don’t have a lot of friends, do you Curly?”

Harry blushes, both from embarrassment and the nickname, “I do, I have Niall. He’s my roommate, and Irish. You’d like him.”

Still with his gaze fixated on Harry, Louis puts down the cardboard cup, “Mate, if he’s your roommate I doubt he has a choice whether he’s your friend or not then.”

Harry’s not even offended, he just bows his head and laughs, because Louis’ talking to him and actually keeping conversation going with him and everything sounds so lovely coming from his mouth, voice monotone and a little hoarse from sleep but slightly high-pitched, Northern accent ringing high through every word. When he looks down, he sees a familiar pair of Doc Martens, spider web tattoo inked on Louis’ leg.

“They look a bit big.”

Louis follows his gaze, pointing his foot to show off the boots. “These old things? They’re not mine, actually, although I have been meaning to get a pair of my own. They’re Zayn’s. Didn’t mean to wear them, but I quite literally woke up only ten minutes ago, mate. Grabbed the first pair of shoes I saw and ran. Pretty sure this Mac is Zayn’s, too, so. Sorry if my footwear doesn’t compare to your casual lesbian fashion taste.”

Louis doesn’t even look at Harry after he finishes speaking, simply sips the coffee he was so unhappy about just a minute. Grimaces.

  
His eyes are smudged with Harry assumes is left-over eyeliner from the night before. He remembers two weeks ago, Louis burst through the doors of the lecture hall ten minutes late, holding a notebook, sleep still in his eyelashes and both feet bare. He also remembers thinking how could someone’s ankles look so cute. He had taken a seat and asked Harry for a pen, noticed him looking at his feet, turned around gruffly and brought his feet up under his arse on the chair. Lost in thought, he forgets to reply to Louis’ statement, completely missing the last comment.

“They suit you, though. Cute.”

Louis’ head snaps back to him, and oh fuck. Harry did not just call Louis’ feet _cute. To his face_. _Just keep digging, just keep digging._

He quickly adds, “Much better than arriving to class in bare feet,” before facing forward with a smirk, taking another sip.

This time, Louis smirks, “What _are_ you talking about? That was two weeks ago, if I remember correctly. Keeping track, are we, Curly?”

Harry blushes, laughing to himself, because yeah. He kind of is.“It was only two classes ago. Not that hard to remember.”

  
“Touche.”

Both boys take a sip, both boys still smiling into their cups despite themselves.

  
Louis peers into his own, steam rising into his face. “I don’t know if I’m severely hungover or what, but this isn’t actually that bad. Thanks, Curly. Probably would’ve drooled all over Zayn’s keyboard and broken this bloody thing by now, if I was still asleep.”

Harry’s smile nearly splits his fucking face before he schools his expression into a small, hidden smile, nodding. “You’re welcome. Treat people with kindness, and all that.”

Louis stares at him for a second, Harry oblivious to it. He really is quite nice to look at, Louis thinks. Still a bit skittish, but Louis’ not sure if he’s actually like that or just because this is a first impression sort of thing.

“So do you have a name, or am I supposed to just call you Curly Lesbian in my head forever?”

Harry lets out an embarrassing cackle at that, covering his mouth, eyes closed.

“Curly Lesbian. Nice, okay, where did that come from?” Imagine if he knew what you called him, Harry thought.

“Well, obviously, your hair. And you wear these weird hipster shirts, and hats, like some trendy lesbian mum who listens to Fleetwood Mac.”

“Ah, excuse me, Fleetwood Mac are legends. Plus I love seventies music.”

“My point exactly. The behavior you just exhibited was very curly, and very lesbian. The lesbian jumped out.”

Harry just laughs into his cup, hands covering his face. And he swears he hears Louis giggling along with him.  
So there’s that.

Class is over just as Harry calms himself down, everyone around them raising from their seats. Which. No. This cannot end. This is possibly the best thing to ever happen to Harry because he’s talking to Louis and he’s actually not terrifying or ignoring Harry. They’re talking, like new aquatints do. Which. Yes.

Louis gathers himself up, laptop and cup and fuzzy hair, and no. This is devastating. “Well, Curly, I must bid farewell. Now I must go and sleep til I die.” He promptly sets off down the row, poking at Harry’s head as he walks by, before Harry stands up and calls after him.

“Wait!”

  
Louis turns, eyebrows raised.Harry fish mouths for a brief moment.

“It’s um, it’s Harry.”

Louis grins. “Well, Um Harry, thank you for the coffee and the lesbianness. Next time, have tea. With Louis written on the lid.”  
The golden boy winks before leaving.

Dear holy fucking God. Harry is not well.

**********

Harry and Louis are sort of friends now. Mostly, Harry brings Louis Yorkshire Tea every Monday without a fail and makes Harry sit next to him on his grumpy mornings and sometimes meets him in the coffee shop if he’s up that early. Sometimes he’d be outside the shop smoking or talking to Zayn, looking at Harry with a look as if a cat chasing a mouse. Zayn usually heads off just as Harry makes his way towards Louis, or just nods to acknowledge he’s even there. Which is lovely.

Louis always smells like smoke and strawberries in the mornings, more so if he’s grumpy. He’d usually have a smoke before class anyways, although Harry never sees him doing it, only on his bad mornings. But on his good mornings, only strawberries. It’s fucking intoxicating.

  
He never stops looking at Louis from when he sees him first thing in the mornings to when he walks off towards the art building, or the green after lecture. Louis teases him and asks him questions in the middle of their lectures and makes fun of his “hipster lesbian” clothes and his undying love for Shania Twain and Mondays are always, always sunny days for Harry.

He never mentions that first morning, though. The first time Harry saw Louis. That morning he had been too fucking busy staring at Louis that he forgot his coffee.  
Probably for the best, to avoid embarrassment on both sides.  
Mostly Harry’s, though.

And so Harry spends his days pining, religiously making sure he stops for tea every single Monday morning, whether he’s late or hungover or it’s raining or if he’s getting his own coffee or not. Which is probably quite sad.

He still doesn’t tell Niall about him. He’s definitely noticed something is up, because Harry never goes out on a Sunday night and is always out the door on Mondays just as Niall is getting up and comes back after lecture all dreamy and floaty and smiling, as if he’s high, then listens to some Pink Floyd record for an hour. Most evenings he’s sat watching some soppy romantic comedy, always ending up crying from behind a cushion while Niall scoffs. He never asks, though, just smirks at Harry as he walks out the door and when he comes bopping through their door. And Harry never tells.

One month after their first become properly known to each other, Harry walks out of his little shop, tea and coffee in hand, _Somebody To Love_ playing in his ears, to a Louis Tomlinson waiting for him at the door. He’s wearing light wash cropped jeans, black Vans, baby blue jumper, canines flashing back at him as he chews something. Strawberry gum. Harry can smell it from where he’s standing, staring at Louis, still looking as lovely as the day Harry first saw him. His nails match his lips today.

“Right on time, Curly.”

He snatches his cup right from Harry’s hand, fingers barely brushing, Louis written along the side before taking a sip. “Just checking you didn’t poison me. Remember the first time you brought me tea and that lady added her own milk? Tsk tsk, have to get a job here and show these people how it’s done. What do you think?”

He looks up from his cup to meet Harry’s gaze, green eyes already fixed on him from under that black fedora thing. His breath catches. They both look away as they walk on, sipping their cups.

“Probably should do. You’ll take over the whole campus with your milky tea and Red Bull-coffee-hangover cocktails. Tomlinson’s M.U. God help us all.”

A small hand smacks the fedora off his head, sending Harry into a fit of giggles as Louis stares in disgust. “Excuse me, Harold, some people still have classic British taste and aren’t corrupted by American ideals, such as your black coffee and black fedoras and all this shite,” Louis gestures to Harry’s torso. He’s wearing the reverse of his dotted “sperm” shirt. And yes, Louis is in agreement with Niall.

“Trump’s America, I swear.”

Harry simply walks on, chin tilted up. “If you’re going to refer to my fashion taste as soft lesbian, Louis, then I shall live up to it. Own your labels.”

Louis just...stares.“Yeah, you know, Styles, not all labels are given with love.”

“Then I shall accept them with love.”

He sips his coffee and continues walking towards the lecture hall, Louis laughing at his side. “Nice words, Baby Mick. What are we listening to today?”

Before Harry can stop him, he snatches the earphone dangling near Harry’s left nipple, _Somebody To Love_ is still playing.  
_Why_ , Harry thinks, gaze risen to the heavens.

“Ah, A Queen man. Thought as much. Looking for someone to love, Harry?” Louis drops the earphone, winking just as he pushes open the door to the hall, looking back at Harry from the corner of his eye.

He just stands, watching as the boy disappears into their lecture, now humming the song still playing in Harry’s ears. He sighs, dumping his coffee in the bin.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He follows the golden, springtime boy inside.

**********

Instead of prancing through the door with all the sunshine that usually fills his veins after a class with Louis, Harry practiced falls into his flat, body sagging onto the couch. He takes every opportunity to hog the couch if Niall isn’t still asleep on it when he gets home, but he’s in need of it more today.

He just. He likes Louis. He knows that. He knows why he hangs onto every word that leaves Louis’ mouth and why his insides turn to goo when Louis smiles that crinkly smile, the one that rarely reaches his eyes unless Harry gets exceptionally offended at some remark, why he’s only warn a booby shirt for the past month to his Monday classes, why his heart goes whoosh whenever they make eye contact for longer than necessary, why he always feels so high after their classes.

He also knows little to nothing about this Angel Boy, and he absolutely will not go to Liam to snitch more out of him, and he really needs to stop becoming infatuated so easily. He always knows what he wants to do. But he can’t.

He screams into the empty room and buries his face into the leather arm of the couch.

“Harry, you back?”  
Oh. Not so empty. “Evidently so, Niall.”

Something decides to land itself right on Harry’s arse, knocking the air from his chest and kicking his legs up, before strong arms grip them to their side.

“ _Niall_ , leave me be. I’m in the middle of a crisis.”

Niall just takes Harry’s boots off and rubs at his ankles, in what he probably thinks is a soothing motion. “It’s okay, honeykins, you can talk to Mammy Niall. Bear in mind, I haven’t eaten yet so I’m still a bit slow. Let it all out.”

Harry turns what he can of his torso at an angle so he can actually breathe, face squashed against leather. “I, um. You know that class I had just now? Every Monday morning?”

“Yes, it nearly killed you when you first got your timetable, but it’s alright now, yeah? Early classes?”

Harry hesitates “Yeah, it’s um. It’s fine. Great, even. It’s not that, though.”

Niall has given up on his attempt at ankle-massaging, just hugging Harry’s legs to himself, which is probably more comfortable to Niall than to himself. “What is it then?”

He swallows. “It’s, um. There’s a boy? In my class?”

Niall gasps with much more exaggeration than necessary, dropping Harry’s legs onto the couch and clapping his hands. “ _Oh my god,_ you’ve met someone! A boy! Honey, yes! Oh my god! You know, this explains a lot. You never have coffee here anymore before you leave and you’re the only person here who’s happy about their first lecture of the week.”

Harry just groans, kicking Niall up so he can get into a comfortable position to be miserable in. “Yes, I’ve realized. It’s agony.”

Niall pushes on, dropping his arms into Harry’s lap and stares up at him from his hands propped up. “

“So he’s in your class then?”  
“Mhm.”  
“Does he sit near you?”  
“Right in front of me. But if that rude girl isn’t there he drags me down to sit beside him.”  
“Is he cute?”  
“Very.”  
“Do you buy him coffee every morning?”

Harry can barely fight his fond smile.  
“Yorkshire Tea, actually. And he only takes it with about 50% milk so I doubt he’s sane.”

“Is he funny?”

He shrugs. “Yes, well, most of the time he’s laughing at me rather than with me. I laugh with him though, so..”  
Niall squeals. “This is so cute, oh my god. What’s his name, what’s his name?”

Harry pauses. “It’s, um. Louis. Louis Tomlinson.”

At that, Niall drops his hands, sitting up straight. “Huh. Name sounds familiar. I think I know his flatmate. Zayn, is it?”

“Yeah, yeah. He said Zayn sees you anytime you’re down at Oliver’s.”

Niall nods. “Artsy bloke, yeah? Decent enough. We did tequila shots one time, I think.”

“Ugh, tequila, I miss you,” Harry groans as he rises up off the couch. He needs toast. And more coffee. Maybe some whiskey. “You in the mood for some Irish Coffee? Missing home?”

Niall laughs. “Fuck off, you arse. Plus you haven’t been out for over a month. You’re either studying or watching your shitty sad rom coms. Which also explains a lot.”

Harry nods from the kitchen, looking for at least one clean mug. “Yeah, well…”

“So what’s the story?”

He turns. “Story? What story?”

Niall deadpans. “With your boy.”

“He’s - he’s not my boy. We’re just friends.” Harry’s suddenly very down for finding that whiskey.

“Harold, if it took you this long to tell me , then you’ve probably pined after him for a good while. I’m guessing that time we watched Love Actually and you were already crying when Snape bought yer one that necklace and Emma Thompson found out.”

“He’s Alan Rickman and he was an _arsehole_ in that!” Harry cries from under the sink.

A hand smacks onto his shoulder. “Harry. Get up.”

He does so reluctantly, hair falling over his face. He can’t bring himself to care.

  
Niall grabs his hair claw from where it’s clipped onto Harry’s trouser pocket, turning the boy so he can get started on his hair. “Now, young Styles, you are a sexy, gorgeous, sweet, romantic son of a bitch who Anne Cox raised to be a perfect gentleman. God bless that woman.”

“Hey, watch your mouth.”

Niall pinches behind Harry’s ear. “Shush! Now, this is university, and you’re a young man, so you’re going to ask your Angel Boy to that lovely diner you took me to one time, and you’re going to do it the next time you see him.”

Harry grunts, then pauses. “How do you know I call him Angel Boy?”

Niall’s hands freeze. “You call him _Angel Boy_? That was just a guess. I do hear you singing something in your room sometimes, she’s an angel, my only angel, or some shite. Do you actually call him Angel Boy?”

Niall’s just laughing at him now, so Harry turns and slaps at his hands. “Niall! You’re supposed to be giving me a pep talk.”

“Sorry, love, sorry,” he laughs to himself under his breath as Harry turns his back to him.“Angel Boy.” Harry stomps on his toes.

“ _Oi_ , alright, yeah. So. Next time you have a class with Louis, ask him out-”

“But-”

“No buts, Styles. You’re pining, you need to get laid, your boy sounds wonderful and Zayn actually showed me a selfie he took with him I think. Quite fit. Would be an eejit if he didn’t say yes, okay?”

He turns Harry to face him, pulling back a few stray curls. “You deserve some sweet loving, Haribo.” He grins at Harry before slapping the sides of his arms, stepping back to admire his work. “Perfect.”

He turns himself and Harry to look in the mirror hanging above their kitchen sink.

  
The hair claw is simply sitting atop Harry’s head, top half of his hair brought back and tied in a knot, a massive lump of it sticking straight up, like a rooster. Harry looks very unimpressed, just staring blankly.

“Great. Yes. Thank you, Niall.”

The boy keeps grinning.

**********

The morning Harry decides he’s going to ask Louis to dinner, he’s wearing a knit rainbow jumper that’s a size too big. And he’s about to shit his pants.

He doesn’t see Louis at the coffee shop, and he probably thinks that’s for the best since his knees are still shaking where he’s sitting at his desk and the girl who sits beside Louis keeps staring at him, his knees knocking the table up and down a bit. He stops. His fingers are tapping against the cups at rapid speed, and Harry thinks he’s going to pass out.  
Yes. Most definitely.

He wasn’t this bad before he talked to Louis, but then again he wasn’t going to ask Louis out _on a date._

  
Still, he reasons with himself that the first proper talk didn’t go as bad as he expected. Better, even. And if Louis doesn’t, you know, like him like that, then it can just be two friends having dinner.  
Sorted. Crisis averted.

Harry spends the anxious first 10 minutes of the lecture rolling up his sleeves to the correct length. Not so Louis may or may not notice his tattoos or anything, just they’re annoying him and keep wrinkling his notes. Obviously not for Louis.

  
He starts playing with his rings to occupy his jittery fingers and racing pulse as he glances towards the double doors. Ten minutes late. That’s normal, right? He was on time last week, but late the week before. It’s Louis. It’s normal.

He walks in just as Harry looks again for the 12th time that minute and shoots him a sneaky grin, just for Harry, sneaking his way down the row

“My my my, trying for a more subtle gay look today, are we?” Louis shoots Harry a sunny smile, waiting til Harry smiles back and noisily plonks himself down in front of him.

Harry takes a moment to appreciate how _pretty_ Louis looks from his point of view, the slope of his neck, where his shirt dips low enough to show where it meets his shoulder, the curve of his jaw, his eyelashes softly blinking as he settles into his chair, his messy kitten hair.

He waits a minute before slowly leaning forward in his chair, his mouth only a couple of inches from Louis’ ear.

“ _Louis_.”  
“No.”  
“Louis.”  
“Leave a message after the beep, fuck off.”  
“Louis.”

He turns his head slightly, well aware of the proximity of both of their mouths at this point. “Curly, I am engrossed in Professor Corden’s synopsis of why Emily Dickinson ironically, never got dick, so please leave my soul at peace. Take your matters elsewhere,” before facing forward again.

Harry knows he’s being teased, knows Louis loves when Harry wants his attention, knows the smirk and little glint of mischief in his eyes whenever he tests Harry’s patience like this, just to really see how much he actually wants Louis to acknowledge him. It leaves him a little light-headed.

“ _Louis_!” He whisper shouts.

The boy finally huffs and turns around to face Harry, as if he wasn’t just biding time to do so.

“Yes, Harold?”

He loses himself for a second, because Louis is so close and he can smell the strawberries and smoke and he just. Goes for it. “What are you doing on Thursday night?”

Louis stares, Harry can’t tell if he’s breathing or not. He certainly isn’t.

  
Louis finally clears his throat before speaking. “Well, I’ll have to check my schedule, I’m very sought after, I’m sure you know. But why? Why would you be wanting to know if I-“

“If you are would you like to go on a date with me on Thursday?”

 _Okay. Wow. He said it._ It’s out there. Louis Tomlinson knows Harry may be interested in him and probably likes him and would like to take him out and spend time with him outside of class and perhaps most definitely kiss him and have his babies.

However, said boy is still just staring at Harry, expression blank, eyes wide, pink mouth open slightly from when Harry interrupted him. Harry’s breathing pauses, before Louis breaks into a sunny grin.

****

“Does it involve blindfolds or whips of any kind?” He questions with one feathered eyebrow raised, teasing Harry, feeling a little light-headed himself. Because fuck. Curly Lesbian Harry asked him out _on a date_ , and he maybe, sort of, just said _yes_?

Louis definitely doesn’t expect the boy to smirk, a sudden dash of confidence washing over him, before answering. “The latter, no. We’ll save that for date 3.”

The little shit. What makes him think he’ll get as far as a third date anyways? And, _wait_ —

“What do you mean the latter? Blindfolds? Sorry?”

Louis’ only tried sexy stuff with blindfolds once before, but that was with Mark and it was their 6 month anniversary so that’s completely sane. Unlike embarking on some night out that has something to do with blindfolds with this flower hippie prince who drinks black coffee _because he likes it_ and unironically listens to Fleetwood Mac. Louis’ convinced Harry is most definitely a lesbian transported here from the 70s.

  
“How do I know you won’t just knock me out the second I get into your car and sacrifice me to some 70s-Stevie-Nicks-lesbian-witch-cult? Do you have a car? Have you been slowly poisoning me with tea every Monday? Is that what this is?”

And no, his voice did not break halfway through.

Harry just guffaws with both eyebrows raised. “Calm down! As if Ma would accept you as a worthy sacrifice anyways,” and leans back in his chair, all long legs and poison apple smirks and both boys are still locked on each other’s eyes, because shit.

 _They’re going on a date_. Louis just smiles to himself before turning back around in his seat, definitely not blushing and definitely not a bit excited for Thursday.

He only remembers Harry’s last remark when class finishes, calling after him and too busy scowling to remember about the blindfold.

**********

It’s Thursday.

It’s Thursday and it’s 7:30pm and Louis is fucking freezing. After class on Monday, when he had finally caught up to Harry and berated him for thinking Stevie Nicks wouldn’t fucking love him, he had asked Louis to meet him outside the coffee shop at 7:20pm. He’s late.

Ha. Is this supposed to be payback for all the times Louis was late to class? Will be actually show up? Was this a joke?

Oh. _Oh god_. What if it was? What if Harry just meant this as like, a friend date? Like two guys just heading out for something to eat? Fuck. Shit. Louis was shaking bad before that, now he’s pacing. He’s going to freeze. Harry’s late and probably not going to show and Louis is freezing in his ‘pulling shirt’ that barely covers his chest and denim fucking jacket and he’s going to die.

“Hi Lou.”

He jumps back and definitely doesn’t scream a little. Harry’s standing right infront of him, large palms up to defend himself, or at least show that he isn’t armed. So many rings. His hair is noticeably shorter than Monday, though, curls ending just at his ears but still long enough at the top for Louis to run his fingers through, get a grip on them.  
Which. Okay.

Such big, green green eyes. So much leg. And tattoos. And..a lot of cleavage tonight. He’s wearing some sort of black mesh shirt under a leather jacket, chest out, embroidered roses covering his nipples and tucked into high waisted black slacks. Nails painted a burgundy, wine colour. Very snazzy. Very lesbian.

“Calm down, it’s just me, didn’t meant to scare you. And, um. Sorry I’m late, I - I couldn’t find a proper blindfold.”

Louis still hasn’t moved from when he jumped back in shock, shoulders hunched up and his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, just staring. Because. Well.

  
Harry looks like sex on legs. The kind of soft, soppy sex you’d have on your anniversary or wedding night, though. But sex nonetheless. He looks timeless, as if he shouldn’t be here, in this time, but he fits so well into everything and he looks so perfect from Louis’ view. All the time, but especially now.

  
He looks like something Louis shouldn’t have, but he wants.

He watches as Harry pulls some long, silver scarf from around his waist, holding it up and snapping it with his hands. Which. Puts a lot of images in Louis’ head. “Oh. You were serious about that thing.”

Harry smirks softly. “Well, you don’t know where I’m bringing you, and I thought it would be funny if you didn’t know until we got there.”

Louis just squints, slowly walking towards the boy. “You know, just because I let you bring me tea every week doesn’t mean I trust you to lead me through the whole of Manchester blind. This better be close by, and worth it, Styles.”

He turns his back to Harry just as their toes touch. He’s never been this close to Harry before, and he swears he can feel his breath on the back of his neck when he lifts the scarf over Louis’ head.

He shivers when Harry’s fingers brush across his forehead to move his fringe, then through his hair, sending sparks down the vertebrae of Louis’ spine. “Sorry,” Harry whispers, minty breath right by Louis’ ear. His fingers brush the back of Louis’ head as he ties knot with the silver maternal, soft against his face. Harry probably thinks it was because his fingers were cold, not because it’s the first time his hands have touched Louis. The scarf is lose enough not to hurt his head, just tight enough not to fall down any further than his nose.

With a hand on the small of Louis’ back, and a deep breath from the both of them, Harry guides Louis to their date.

******

“This is quite scratchy, you know.”

“We’re nearly there, Lou. Just keep walking forward.”

“If you’re leading me to some sex dungeon place, or into the back of a van, you can just tell me now. I won’t run. I’ll be good and quiet and probably kick you in the shin.” He would _so_ run.

“Do you _ever_ stop talking?”

“Ah c’mon, you love the sound of my voice. Conversation is one of the loveliest of the arts, Harry. Appreciate it. Appreciate _me_!”

Harry laughs at the golden boy, one hand still on his back and another now on his shoulder, stopping him. “Alright, alright, you’re quite the artist so.”

Although Louis can’t see him, he turns to the sound of Harry’s voice and smiles. “Thank you. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way, so I’m a bit of a genius. What do you think, Curly?”

Harry sort of just stands and stares at the ball of utter fucking delight in front of him fondly. He can’t believe his luck. Instead of responding to his question, Harry leans down just to Louis’ ear and whispers, “We’re here.”

“Oh! Lovely! About bloody time, actually.”

His sight is abruptly given back to him, Harry whipping the scarf off from his eyes. Louis looks up to see the name of their destination lit up in red UV lights, _**Norma Jean’s**_ in cursive. It’s a 50’s era themed diner, Louis’ favourite place in the city besides his own flat. And it’s the first fucking place he guessed when Harry had asked him where he thinks they’re going.

Louis stares in shock, then turns around in a huff and smacks Harry’s shoulder, who’s just standing there all smiley and fond and it’s kind of creepy, but makes Louis blush nonetheless. Because it’s cute, this whole night is just really fucking cute and it hasn’t even properly started. Because Harry brought him on a date to a surprise location trying to be sweet when actually it really wasn’t a surprise, but Louis is still quite flattered. And still blushing.

“You are the least original person I’ve ever met”.

“But at least I’m classy.”

“ _Classy_? Blindfolding a boy on the first date and walking him to a fifties themed diner? Oh yes, chivalry at its finest.”

**********

“ _All you touch and all you see  
Is all your life will ever be_ ”

“Do you think Pink Floyd were all high when they recorded Dark Side Of The Moon?”

“Sounds like it. Plus it was the seventies, so most likely, yes.”

“I mean, if they weren’t high before it they must have been high after. I feel high whenever I listen to it anyways.”

“And you’d certainly want to be high to be mad enough to have a song over ten minutes. Crazy Diamond is a fucking masterpiece, but imagine having to record it.”

“That’s on Wish You Were Here, Louis.”

“I know that. I’m just saying.”

It’s some time after 11. They’re sitting in an empty car park somewhere between _Norma Jean’s_ and University, leather digging into Harry’s back.

Dinner was amazing, Harry ordered their sweet potato and black bean veggie burgers, Louis had some sweet potato thai rice thing. He can’t remember what it was called, but it tasted like sex on his tongue, so he can’t really blame Harry for the wide eyed look he had given him for the noise he made once he first took a bite. Harry was going to order them the milkshake he got himself the first time he went there, with Niall, but he thought that would be a bit corny and over the top. Louis ordered it instead. “Two straws, please,” he had said to the young waitress before winking at Harry. His cheeks flushed as red as the leather seats and shyly ran a hand through his hair, now much shorter than his ‘sugar baby’ look. Niall convinced him to get a little trim yesterday after finishing his coursework for the week. Louis seems to like it, so that’s perfectly fine.  
After finishing the milkshake, Harry not daring to take a sip at the same time as Louis, even with the two straws, and an ankle briefly brushing past his own a few times throughout their meal, Harry paid and Louis decided to drag him on a walk.

Now they’re passing a cigarette back and forth, Harry’s music on shuffle, and Louis hasn’t stopped talking for the past hour. He doesn’t mind.

“Freddie’s definitely immortal, though. Has to be. Or he’s still alive and that whole thing was a hoax, since the band hadn’t really put much music out til that point and their prime years were gone. He could be in Cuba, or Iceland or something.”

Harry hums, breathing smoke out of his nose, watching it swirl above him before evaporating into the stars. “Or he could have been reincarnated as someone else the day he died.”

He passes the fag back to Louis, who seems to like that statement. “Late November 1991, wasn’t it? My birthday is Christmas Eve..hmm..”

He furrows his brows, blue eyes mischievous as he takes a pull. His chest rises as he inhales, tapping ashes off the end of the butt. Harry can’t take his eyes off him. He smiles when Louis bolts upright, pink shining lips already stretched across his teeth.

“Harry.”

“Louis.”

“I have a secret to tell you.”

Harry grins, dimple popping. He knows because Louis’ smile softens as his eyes drop down from his eyes momentarily.

“Then tell me.”

“But it’s a _secret_.”

Harry sits up now, staring right into Louis’ face, expression open. smile soft. “You can tell me, Lou.”

He knows it’s a bit of a game, that whatever Louis wants to tell him is probably a joke, but he still wants Louis to trust him, to let him in, to know he can be soft wit Harry instead of making everything out to be a bit of fun all the time. This is probably the most fun Harry’s had since he graduated from Holmes Chapel, but still.

He feels the tension between them, never been this close to each other before tonight, never been this open and carefree. Louis’ eyes drop from Harry’s, landings somewhere between his neck and nose.

“Come here.”

Harry shuffles forward a couple inches, legs crossed to mirror Louis.

He grins. “Closer.”

Harry can feel his heart go whoosh when he moves just a bit closer, sitting right in front of Louis now, knees pressing together. Both of the boys eyes are flickering between their eyes and lips, and Harry can’t breathe, can’t feel his lips, can’t feel his arms or his lungs, he just feels where his legs are pressed to Louis’ and he’s leaning forward a bit, still caught on Harry’s lips, and Harry goes numb.

Then Louis completely turns direction, soft lips pressed to Harry’s ear, and breathes.

“I’m Freddie Mercury. I’m immortal.”

Harry just leans back and laughs to the sky, to the stars, to the clouds he can just about make out thanks to the moon, feeling a bit high off the night and the energy and the ghost of Louis’ lips on his skin, neck still warm from his breath, from this Angel Boy of his.

He’s still smiling like the sun is flowing through him when he meets Louis’ eyes again.

“I knew it,” he whispers, because he doesn’t want anyone or anything else to hear, because he can keep a secret.

Louis plays along, feigning surprise and gasping, covering his mouth with his hand, the cigarette in his fingers still lit so his eyes flash red back at Harry for a second. His blood is on fire. “How did you know?”

Harry feels so soft right now. So, so soft, and he wants to crawl into Louis’ jacket with him and live there forever. “Because you’re a Killer Queen.”

Louis giggles. Louis fucking giggles, ashes falling onto his jeans and he doesn’t seem to care, and Harry is dying.

Then a rolling twinkling of piano notes play through Harry’s phone, and he stands up, arm reaching down to Louis. He’s still giggling when he looks up at Harry through silver hair, eyes the dark navy of the sky, stars, the whole fucking galaxy shining in them.

Harry can barely breathe when he says, “Come on, mistro. You cannot _not_ dance to this song when you’re in an empty car park after having dinner at a fifties diner. Join me.”

Louis looks at Harry like he’s crazy and high and drunk. He feels crazy and high and drunk. Always with Louis. Always _because_ of Louis.

He doesn’t say anything, though, just takes Harry’s hand and rises to stand in front of him. Their faces are about three inches apart, Louis’ chin leven to Harry’s shoulder, so before he can look up at Harry, he leans his head against it as Harry arranges them into a waltz position, slowly spinning.

Louis giggles into his neck, swears he can feel Harry’s throat click as he swallows. “I can’t dance, Styles.”

“Neither can I, Armstrong. Just step and spin.”

Louis giggles again, and it fills everything inside Harry that was at one stage empty. Both of their hands are clasped together beside Harry’s shoulder, Harry’s other hand pressing lightly into Louis’ side under his jacket, right where his ribs would be. Louis has one hand gripping the shoulder his cheek is pressed against, wondering how someone can be so warm in just a mesh fucking shirt and black leather, at this time. He breathes deep, breathes Harry in deep, and lets his body sway as Louis Armstrong sings.

“ _Hold me close and hold me fast,_  
 _The magic spell you cast  
This is La Vie En Rose_ ”

They spin in tiny, endless circles, Harry changing direction and speed to go with the song, bringing tiny giggles and huffs from Louis, lips pressed against his neck and Harry can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his ears, underneath Louis’ hand. He wonders if he can just die right here, never leave this, because he really does feel immortal now and as if they’re both part of the stars they were gazing at just a few minutes ago.

Maybe somewhere under their dancing feet, another two people are lying somewhere pretending to watch them, when they’re ready gazing at each other.

Harry smiles at that, and Louis must feel it against his hair, because he leans back to look at Harry with a matching smile. “What are you laughing at? I told you I can’t dance, you’re not so good yourself, Styles.”

Harry barely hears a word he says, shaking his head as his eyes dance over Louis’ face, hand raising to press between his shoulder blades as he spins them in a tight circle, Louis squealing in down his neck. Once they’re steady, Louis stays there, doesn’t move Harry’s hand when it drops just a fraction, although his pulse skyrockets. He feels warm breath against the side of his face, listening to Harry sing.

“And when you speak, angels sing from above..everyday words seem, to turn into love songs.”

He pulls back again, just barely, noses brushing at the tips, eyes locked. “Knew you loved my voice.” Harry’s still smiling from the song, teasing Louis, and a wave of light warmth washes through him, rolling down his spine, reminding him that Harry’s hands are still on him.

He just hums, smile dropping a little, chest shaking on an intake of breath. Louis licks his lips subconsciously, eyes lost in Harry’s Snow White lashes and how his eyes seem to be endless, even in the dim light of the moon. He feels the hand gripping his own drop, slowly dragging up his arm until it rests atop Louis’ denim clad shoulder. His eyes drop to his lips, and Louis licks them again, watches as Harry’s eyes follow the movement. They’re still swaying slightly, saxophone still playing from Harry’s back pocket.

“ _Lou_ ,” he breathes, hand raising again, barely brushing the skin of Louis’ neck. Harry’s never seen such a pretty neck before. He drags his eyes from Louis’ lips up to his eyes, looking for a sign, something to tell Harry _I want this_ or _yes_ or _this is okay, keep going._ Neither of them move, neither of them say another word, the air between their mouths feeling too cold and too hot all at once.

He raises his hand again to softly grip Louis’ cheek, cupping his jaw gently. He feels the muscles there tense as Louis swallows, eyelashes fluttering, his pulse jumping under Harry’s little finger. That was enough.

The first thing that registers in Louis’ brain is _soft_. Soft lips. Strong hands. Shaky breaths. Silky tongue. Steady chest. Everything was so soft. And Louis’ insides were beginning to melt inside Harry’s jacket, leather hiding them both from the moonlight, until they fuse together like copper wires, tangled and electric and flowing and fusing and warm and _everything_.

They both pull away, just enough so they’re lips are still brushing, Harry’s eyes locked on Louis’ closed lids. He raises his pretty little pixie head to look at Harry, and he swears he sees lightning in those blue eyes.

They’re both breathless, but Harry just about utters out, “you’re an Angel Boy, Louis.”

Louis smiles his beaming sunshine smile, lips much darker than they were earlier. “An _Angel Boy_ , you say? So I am immortal?”

Harry breathes out on a soft laugh, eyes dropping down to pink lips again, pink lips that he just kissed. “Yeah. Yeah, you are.” He dives forward and kisses Louis again, sighing as their lips brush again and again until Harry doesn’t feel anything else. He doesn’t want to.

Only after both of their lips have gone numb, cheeks and noses red, hands shaking, that Louis pulls back. “Could you, um.”

Harry’s never seen Louis nervous before. He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. He ducks down to look at Louis. “What is it?”  
He seems to want to look anywhere but Harry’s face, hands still gripping his waist and shoulder. He clears his throat, Adam's apple bobbing.

“Would you want to go out with me on Monday? Like after class, if you’re free?”

Harry knocks his head to Louis’ and exhales in relief. “Yes, you tit. I thought you were about to tell me you had a boyfriend or something.”

“Oh, I do. It’s Niall.”

Harry just fixes him with a blank stare, but his dimple gives him away as Louis smirks back.

“You see, there’s this coffee shop I go to that do quite rubbish tea, I usually get a cup every Monday morning, but I’ve never actually ate there, or anything, you might know it actually. So, anyways, would you-”

He’s already laughing when Harry shuts him up with a kiss, big hands coming up to grib his face and the back of his neck, Louis wrapping his arms around his waist and spinning them in a small circle again as Harry keeps pecking his lips.

“Yes, please, _yes_. Now shut up and walk me home.”

He pulls away and Louis reaches up to grip Harry’s hand, small legs kicking out as the song picks up once again, dragging Harry with him with one hand snuck under his leather jacket, walking together and smiling together and Harry never felt lighter.

He watches as Louis runs up to the nearest light pole and hangs dramatically from it, the crescendo of _La Vie En Rose_ dragging out, and thinks to himself.

 _Got him_.

**********

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
